


Aegis

by ArtsyAfrodite



Series: And Slowly We Piece Ourselves Unbroken [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Boyfriends, Gallavich, Gallavich Week, Gallavich Week 2, Gen, Hospitalization, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Protection, Protectiveness, together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:57:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1791286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyAfrodite/pseuds/ArtsyAfrodite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s a buckler, voluntarily so, and Ian is his choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 of Gallavich Week - Ian and Mickey Together. While I aimed to follow this guideline, this fic did turn into a bit more than that. I just hope it fits the bill. :)

A whisper carries across the room, faint, but loud enough to be heard.  Ian’s legs are close to his chest, the words just spoken sounding almost forbidden.  “You should’ve left me lying there that night.”  It’s guilt and Mickey can practically hear the thud of the boy’s heart from it. 

Mickey’s chest tightens as Ian exhales, preparing to break out all of his defenses because that’s what he does for him now – it’s what he does for _them_.  He guards his protectiveness with his all because aside from Ian, it’s all he has now.  “You don’t mean that,” Mickey says as he slides next to him on the bed.  The younger boy simply shrugs, indecisive his new mantra.  Mickey lifts his hand to run his fingers through his red hair, only for him to flinch nervously.  He’s stung and retreats without protest.

“I’m not going back,” Ian says sternly.  Mickey’s eyes carry over his tired face, his eyes less green and how his lips pressed tightly in a bleak line makes him want to gently rub his thumb across them.  It’s painful, but he refrains.  Ian’s so fragile now, and anyone who knows Mickey, knows he doesn’t do well with fragile because he’s careless and impetuous, and he _breaks_ things.  “I need you,” Ian says shakily.

And this is why Mickey has to always shield not one, but two hearts.  Fiona calls him Ian’s saving grace, Debbie opts for his anchor and Lip – he just thinks Mickey’s in it to fuck his brother again, literally and figuratively.  He’ll always be leery of the Milkovich and quite frankly Mickey doesn’t blame him for being _protective_.  That, he understands and it’s as clear as the vodka he’s been immersed in for the past week.  But he knows he’s none of these things, especially a saving grace, because Ian has always been that for him.  He wants no credit for finding the red head that night, because if it wasn’t for Mandy forcing him to grow a pair, the same old fear that kept him lying to himself would’ve never sent him out there.  Besides, what was he supposed to do?

Hell, the air was harsh that night, the cold biting and prickling the skin like teeth and needles.  The kid was only wearing jeans and a tank, more snow up his nose than on the ground, the high wrapping around his neck like a fucking scarf tied too tight.  To make matters worse – he had passed out.  So, what choice did he have?  It was either pick him up or leave him, and he chose to carry him like the wounded soldier he was off of the concrete battlefield.  Now, he feels almost obligated, and somewhere between his marital bed and the kid’s kitchen table he said “fuck it.”  He grabs at chances to be his shield now.  Mickey struggles with the honesty still, admitting that this _feeling_ to keep Ian safe has always been there, despite any recent denials.

_“I’m not protective of him,” Mickey protested.  Mandy snatched the cigarette out of his hand and shrugged.  A peace offering – this debate was getting old._

_“You keep saying that,” Mandy responded.  She sucked on the nicotine and blew a long line out, aimed towards her brother’s face.  She knew better.  “It’s ok if you are Mickey.”_

_“Well I’m not.”_

_“He’s going to that guy’s flat again, isn’t he?” she asked now well aware of her brother’s newfound idiosyncrasies.  “The one where his co-workers and clients hang out at?”  Mickey shifted uncomfortably on the couch._

_“What?  I don’t fucking know,” Mickey lied._

_“Liar.”_

_“Look, I don’t – “_

_“It’s ok, go to him,” Mandy interrupted._

_“Why?  So I can be his shadow again?  No fucking way.”  Mandy smiled, making Mickey even more uneasy._

_“You’re not his shadow Mickey.  You’re his boyfriend and you live to protect him.  Admit it.”_

 

So there’s no sense in hiding it anymore.  No sense in lying.  He’s already exposed, bones drying in the sun, his skeletons no longer hidden in the shade of his closet.  They’re tossed _everywhere,_ without regard or care, scattered too quickly and over a span too wide for him to collect what is rightfully his to hover over while he cowers in a corner somewhere.  He’s a buckler, voluntarily so, and Ian is _his_ choice.

“You need to go back Ian.”  And by “back” Mickey means back to the hospital.  He almost chokes on his words, but his tone is serious nonetheless.  There’s nothing he wants less than for Ian to go back, but given the nonsense he’s just heard, he has to remain firm.  But Ian’s a fidgety mess, his leg with a mind of its own now and his fingers are clinging almost desperately to his jeans.  He’s tugging and twisting the fabric as he furrows his eyebrows, the look on his face somewhat strung out and borderline ridiculous.  His eyes are like red-rimmed saucers – fixed in a wide pensive stare. 

“You think I’m a burden.”  It wasn’t a question.  Ian finally turns his head towards the older boy, his eyes glazed over and wet.  Mickey doesn’t look away despite the pain behind his lover’s eyes, despite preferring the discomfort of staring into the sun over this. 

“You know I don’t think that,” Mickey defends. 

“Then why must you push me away like this?”  Ian’s tone is bordering anger now, his chest beginning to heave as tears pool in the corners of his eyes.  He’s becoming agitated and Mickey knows what he has to do. 

He reaches for Ian’s shirt to remove it, the red head initially swatting his hand away, his jaw clenched tight as he simultaneously fights to hold back his tears and the thoughts in his head.  After two attempts, Mickey finally wins the battle, getting his shirt off before removing his own.  He maneuvers Ian gently into a lying down position and follows suit, lying down behind him.  The younger boy’s breathing is still quite erratic, slight grunts escaping his mouth as he continues to get upset.  Mickey moves in close until his chest is flush against Ian’s back, the skin-to-skin contact causing him to calm down just a little.  He lets his arm cascade over Ian’s bare chest, bringing his tattooed hand directly over his heart and gently presses.  Their bodies practically melt, and if they almost disappear into each other, Mickey doesn’t mind.  He begins to take deep breaths as his fingertips monitor the rhythm of Ian’s heart.

“Breathe with me,” Mickey says gently into Ian’s ear.  He hears a faint cry escape Ian’s mouth as the younger boy shakes his head in protest.  “Ian, please.”  The shaking subsides as Ian finally acquiesces, leaning his head back slightly until his hair tickles Mickey’s nose.  He takes in the scent of his red hair as he continues to breathe deeply. 

“You’re pushing me away,” Ian says lowly.  The words hurt as they fall, but Ian’s breathing is steadying now, his heartbeat syncing with his.  He learned some weeks back that pressing his chest into Ian’s back when he had fits calmed him down.  The warmth of his bare skin worked better than any pill could. 

Mickey buries his nose into Ian’s neck.  “I only want you closer.”

“Then let me stay,” Ian pleads and the sound burns Mickey’s ears.  At this point all he wants to do is agree with Ian, hold him just like this and never move.  But he knows he’s getting worse, and despite wanting to be the one to take care of him, he knows he can’t, not like Ian deserves and needs.  So he decides to put the conversation on hold for the night because they’re both tired and the passing moon reminds him it’s late.

“How about we just get some sleep and talk about this tomorrow?”  Surprisingly, Ian nods slightly in agreement, more than likely because he’s too exhausted to continue his objection, and he pushes himself more into Mickey’s chest.  He wants to become a part of him, for their skin to attach so he’ll never have to leave.  Because despite the fog in his head, he knows he’s going back, eventually. 

Ian breathes in deeply, his rhythm matching Mickey’s, and for just a little while he feels like himself.

~~~

It takes two days to convince Ian to go back. 

The lithium he’s on is shit and Mickey can only use the skin of his chest and makeshift breathing exercises but so many times until Ian begins to need more than what he currently has to offer.  He feels defeated and like a failure, because what good is he if he can’t be there for the one person he loves more than anything – more than himself?  Fiona convinces him he’s done well as she helps him pack some of Ian’s things.  She has to work in a half hour, so she won’t be able to go with them to the hospital, but insists on helping him pack.

Ian practically demands that a family member come with them as well, so Lip offers to drive them in his sort-of girlfriend Amanda’s BMW.  Mickey already feels the judgment from the older Gallagher before he even gets in the car, the silent questions lingering behind the look in his eyes screaming in his face.  He sits in the backseat with Ian who clings to him as they cruise through the Southside, his head resting on his shoulder and his eyes closed.  Every five minutes or so, Mickey catches Lip staring inquisitively at him through the rear view mirror.  His hope for a silent and undisturbed ride dies when Lip opens his mouth.

“You know, by now most people would’ve given up on someone in Ian’s condition,” Lip says in a quick glance.  Mickey inwardly laughs, because by now he likes to think Lip sees him as more than most people.  _Wishful thinking._

“Yeah well I’m not most people,” Mickey responds shortly.  He’s already over this conversation.  He looks down, and it appears Ian is sound asleep, his fingers curled tightly around his.

“I’m not attacking you,” Lip assures, but Mickey knows he is.  “It’s just, you could’ve easily sent him home instead of keeping him with you.”

“Nothing’s in it for me, at least not in that way, if that’s what you’re gonna ask.”  Mickey’s pissed now, because he didn’t get in this fucking car to get grilled by Ian’s brother – one of the closest people to him, who took the most far away and casual approach to his disorder.  And if only the jerk knew that it wasn’t nothing but _everything_ in this for him.

Lip grows silent for a moment as if thinking of his next words.  If he wasn’t driving, Mickey would hurl one good punch into the back of his head.  But he doesn’t say anything, only continues to drive them to their destination.

They arrive to the hospital, and not surprisingly, Ian is groggy and anxious.  He grips Mickey’s wrist tightly as the nurses gather his things, their white uniforms making him want to bolt, again.  Lip stands to the side, allowing the couple their space and last few moments together before his brother goes away for the next few weeks, maybe even months.

“Are you ready Ian?” a nurse smiles as she stands over him.  He frowns, and Mickey knows he’s not ready, not yet – probably never will be.

“Can I have just a few minutes with my…uh…” Ian shakily trails off, not sure what to call Mickey because they’re in public and what they have has never been declared in a setting outside of the Milkovich or Gallagher walls.

“Boyfriend,” Mickey affirms as he unabashedly squeezes Ian’s hand.  Blush creeps into the younger boy’s cheeks as he smiles subtly at dark hair and blue eyes he knows he’ll miss more than life.

Lip watches as his brother and Mickey lean in towards each other, touching their foreheads together.  There’s a question bubbling in his gut, and despite the contentment he sees, he just has to know for himself.

After about ten minutes of small pep talks and clichéd words about how much they’ll miss each other, the two boys stand and embrace each other.  Mickey’s hands rest easily on the small of Ian’s back, while Ian’s arms squeeze gently around Mickey’s neck.  The older boy feels something burgeoning in his boyfriend’s chest, and before he pulls away, he says something ever so gently in his ear.

“I love you,” Ian says softly.  He doesn’t expect Mickey to say it back, because this is the first time either one of them has ever said it so he takes Mickey’s breath and the way it catches in his throat as him saying he feels the same.  He pulls back, a small smile on his lips, the first one in almost a month.

Mickey watches as Ian turns to walk towards the nurse who patiently waits.  And before his mind catches up to his mouth, his heart beats him to it.  “I love you too,” he says.  Ian turns his head and smiles just a little wider, acknowledging he heard.

~~~

The ride back with Lip is awkward to say the least.  They don’t speak for more than half of the ride, and this makes Mickey on edge because he knows Lip always has something to say.  He rubs nervously at his bottom lip, already missing Ian.  He knows sleeping alone tonight will be a storm to weather.  Lip finally turns and quickly glances at Mickey, deciding to break the looming silence.

“What are you doing?” Lip asks, his eyes squinted in concentration as he looks straight ahead onto the road.  Mickey laughs, this time out loud, but not obnoxiously.  He knows what the older Gallagher is getting at, and Mickey understands, he does.  He could tell Lip to go fuck himself, which is terribly tempting in this moment, or he could explain himself and let him know he’s not in this to hurt Ian.  He could say something sappy like “I love him,” which is true, but instead, Mickey chooses common ground – something he and Lip both share when it comes to Ian.  It’s his admittance, and the easing of hearts at the same time, and he knows the older Gallagher will get it.  It’s been something that has always been there with Mickey, like a birthmark, or habit.  He lets out a long breath as he looks over at Lip.

“Protecting him,” Mickey answers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it isn’t just love that he’s fallen into, but _into_ Ian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gallavich Week Day 2 - Come What May, Future fic taking place after 4x12. So I decided to make this a thing and continue this to line up with each day of Gallavich Week (sans sexy times, I think lol). Since it already takes place after 4x12, I ran with it. Let's hope it's still good. :)

_“No one will ever see you the way my eyes do.”_

_Mickey smiles – he can’t help it.  Ian is being suave, or trying to be, and he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever; well next to the way he looks when he first wakes up, a lazy smile across his lips and his hair sticking up in different directions._

_They’re in the privacy of his room, so blushing is not a rule breaker, and even if it was, Mickey would be out of the game, easy.  His cheeks are red and he’s certain his skin is pushing one hundred degrees.  “Is that so?” Mickey asks, trying to mask the fact that his stomach just did a series of back flips.  He leans back against the headboard and parts his legs ever so slightly._

_Ian moves from the foot of the bed, crawling to get closer to Mickey.  “It is,” he says as he continues to move forward.  He feels it’s about time the distance between them is closed.  He’s waited too long to be like this – comfortable and dismissive to the fear that someone will find them and try to ruin them.  Specifically Terry.  So once he’s close, he freely inches his hands up the flesh of Mickey’s thighs as he kneels before him, resting his knees between them.  He plants his hands on both sides of his hips before lifting one hand to trace the bruise on Mickey’s forehead with his thumb.  It’s only been a few days since the blow up at the Alibi and the bruises are still fresh.  “And you know it,” the red head smiles._

_“I do,” Mickey admits as he pulls Ian on top of him.  The younger boy stares down at him in admiration, his green eyes doing exactly just as he’d declared, seeing Mickey in only a way he could.  And Mickey’s certain at this point that he’s a goner.  He pulls Ian down by the fabric of his tank top, because what good are those lips if they’re not on his?_

_They kiss slowly for a few minutes, something truly amazing and unrushed, before Ian suddenly pulls away and buries his nose into Mickey’s neck.  He smells like faint cigarette smoke and marzipan, a scent unique to his skin and Ian knows he’ll never get enough.  “What now?” Ian asks, his words muffled by Mickey’s collarbone.  He slowly turns his head to the side, and moves his head until he rests it on top of Mickey’s chest directly above his heart.  The older boy understands the question, and without a shadow of a doubt he knows exactly what._

_“This,” Mickey whispers._

Mickey sits up wildly after having fallen asleep for all of five minutes.  He feels his skin tighten when he realizes he’s been dreaming and frowns at how his fingers cling desperately to the sheets next to him, wet spots clearly in his pillow.  He rubs both of his hands down his face and stares straight ahead, his mind getting away from him.  He can’t sleep with the way memories of Ian linger in his subconscious, how vivid they are so unfair to him.  He isn’t allowed visitors for the first week and Mickey’s not sure if he’ll make it without looking at him that long.  He ponders if it’s possible to willingly dream until –

Mickey doesn’t know much, but he knows enough.  He knows that his father is a piece of shit, he knows Mandy is his favorite sibling, he knows guns.  He knows men will pay for a blowjob before buying their baby milk, he knows Lip Gallagher is the ultimate asshole and he knows his first few nights without Ian is probably the hardest thing he’s ever had to endure.  Insomnia is a bitch.  But insomnia with the sting of the cold from not having that familiar warmth next to you has got to be the true definition of insanity – that, and _love_.

He’s never done anything more than once and expected the same result.  That nonsense is for half-wits.  But one thing he has done is fall deep, so deep, into the abyss where comprehension no longer exists and you’re half crazy.  And it isn’t just love that he’s fallen into, but _into Ian_.  His scent lingers on his pillow, the outline of his body still in the sheets, and he’s certain he’s hallucinated the slight humming sound the red head makes when he’s just fallen asleep more than a few times.

Thoughts of how Ian is faring plagues him and Mickey tries his best to cradle the lingering parts of his lover that surround him in the palms of his shaking hands, because he’s overwhelmed with the need to protect him even when he’s gone.  Being without him is cruel, and with his everything he misses, he hurts.  “Fuck,” Mickey curses to himself.  He kicks the shitty sheets off of his legs, feeling naked, not because he’s no longer covered by two hundred and fifty thread count, but because he isn’t covered by freckled skin and a warmth that could never be duplicated.

He glances at his clock.  3:15am.  He’s up and he knows he’s staying up so he goes to the kitchen and makes coffee – something that will keep him from falling asleep for sure even though he can’t.  Sleep makes way from dreams.  It isn’t something he usually does, but with loneliness he tosses out routine.  Mickey’s only company will be caffeine and his very own solitude.  He considers vodka for a moment, but he knows alcohol makes him a brooding mess and since he’s already that, he refrains on the strength he’s afraid to see what’s lower than misery. 

As he sips slowly at the black liquid, he sees.  He sees Ian sitting on top of the kitchen counter, sees him at the stove trying his best to give Emeril a run for his money – he sees him in the way his own hand twitches, longing to touch the small of his back the way he likes.  Despite Ian being gone he’s still in every crack and crevice of this house.  But there’s no one here in this space, but him.  Suddenly the coffee turns to mud and Mickey lowers his head, and for the first time in a long time, he cries.  He knows he’s done it in his sleep, but it’s different when you’re aware and you do it willingly – heedfully.  They say tears are cleansing but right now they just feel dirty, painful. 

“Hey,” a voice softly lulls behind him.  He shoots his head up and quickly wipes his eyes before turning around.  It’s Mandy, her face nothing short of empathetic and aware.  “I heard you stirring around.  I couldn’t sleep.”  Mickey quickly tries to steel himself before he says a word, because anything that comes out of his mouth in this moment will sound broken.  But Mandy sits in the chair adjacent to him, already in tune with what’s happening as her blue eyes study his face.  “It’s ok to cry,” she reassures her brother, “I miss him too.”

And with that said, Mickey loses his cool and lets himself go.  Mandy doesn’t grab his hand or rub his back.  She simply sits, because she knows her brother needs his space to simply _be_ , and she also knows her presence is enough.

~~~

“Are you nervous?” Mandy asks an obviously nervous Mickey. 

He’s chewing his thumbnail down to the quick and his eyes are shifting nervously.  The words of his sister’s question finally sink in, causing him to snap his head towards her almost indignantly.  “Nervous?  I’m not fucking nervous,” he bites.  If he already didn’t look like an anxious mess, his attitude definitely solidifies Mandy’s suspicion.

She laughs and shrugs her shoulders, her eyes focusing back on the passing buildings as the L zips through the city.  “Yeah you are,” she says confidently.  Mickey says nothing in response, only continues to chew the skin of his thumb as he ponders about what Ian will look like after a week in the hospital.  He envisions him catatonic and in one of those gowns where your ass shows in the back, before he shakes his head and curses at himself for watching too much television.

Time flies when you’re having fun, but times slides by painstakingly slow when you’re miserable.  It’s like molasses gliding off of a spoon, and Mickey’s glad the week without visitors bullshit has finally passed.  But Mandy’s right – he’s nervous.  He feels jittery and like a stupid schoolgirl as the rickety sounds of the train fills his ears.  He finally gets to see the one person who’s responsible for lost sleep and his newfound addiction to coffee at three in the morning.  Nonetheless, he feels himself getting away from him as he and Mandy prepare to visit his boyfriend who he misses too much. 

And too much will never be enough.

Fuck bipolar disorder.  This is Mickey’s only thought as he walks into the hospital, Mandy on his heels, the way her face is screwed up letting him know she’s thinking the same thing.  She’s also hated hospitals since their mother died.  “Ian Gallagher,” Mickey says as he rests his tattooed hands on the front desk in front of the unit receptionist. 

The round lady shoots her eyes disapprovingly at Mickey’s knuckle tattoos.  Her hair is ratty and poorly tied back in a bun, and it takes everything in Mickey not to hurl every obscenity at this woman for judging him.  “Five minutes please.  Here, take this visitor’s card, only two people per card.  A maximum if two cards is allowed.”  Mickey lets out a loud scoff as he grabs the bright orange pass and stares the snooty bitch down.  Because why the fuck can’t he see Ian right now?

“We have to wait?” Mickey barks.  “Why can’t we just go back there now?  He’s expecting us.”  The lady raises her eyebrows in shock at the clearly angry Southside boy in front of her.

“He already has visitors, and no more than four people at a time are allowed.  Well, we didn’t count the little guy,” she explained as she decided to ignore the look on Mickey’s face, looking back down into the chart she was scribbling in when they walked in.  “But it’s only an hour per visit and they have about five more minutes left according to the time.”

Fucking Gallaghers.  It had to be them.  They beat everyone to everything it seems.  Mickey doesn’t care that they’re family, because as established when he fought to take care of the red head, he’s his family too.

“It’s ok Mickey, we’ll wait over here,” Mandy says as she motions for him to walk over to the waiting area.  “Besides, what’s five more minutes?”  He shoots his sister a death glare, because five more minutes is a fucking eternity right now.

Fifteen minutes later, not five, the Gallagher siblings make their way to the front desk.  Mickey’s pissed and he tries his best not to jump up and wipe that smug look off of Lip’s face, who, not surprisingly, spots him the moment they enter the waiting area.  The bastard probably knew Ian was expecting him and Mandy and dragged the visit on longer.

Fiona spots the two Milkovich siblings and makes her way over, Liam perched atop her hip.  “Mickey!  Mandy!” she beams.  It’s somewhat off-putting, because she’s way too happy for someone who just had a visit with their emotionally unstable brother.  Mickey jumps to his feet and simply nods before taking off pass the clan of Gallaghers.  He catches a look from Lip that he’s certain isn’t one for a friendly greeting and tightens his jaw as he continues to walk.  He has tunnel vision and no time for assholes with their heads up their own.

“How’s he doing?” Mandy asks Fiona.  Mickey’s already halfway around the bend of the hallway before he hears her respond. 

He needs to find out for himself.

~~~

Mickey takes a deep breath as he enters two large double doors to some sort of room.  Mandy’s caught up to him, and he hears her let out a long breath as if preparing.  It isn’t Ian’s personal room since no one is actually allowed in there.  It’s a rather large area with round tables and chairs in the middle, couches lining the walls.  There are two separate flat screen TV’s hanging up in two different parts of the area.  If it wasn’t for the vomit colored walls, Mickey would’ve found the place not so bad.

He hates the colors in the space, but more than his dislike for the décor, he envies the space.  He envies it because it has Ian and his bed doesn’t.

“There he is,” Mandy says softly as she points towards a group of couches arranged in a square at the opposite end of the room by the window.  Ian’s facing it, his red hair catching the thin sunlight that trickles through the sheer white curtains, and Mickey thinks it’s probably the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.  He isn’t even facing them, instead facing the window, but the shape of his shoulders is more than enough to send Mickey off the deep end.

Ian isn’t wearing a gown, rather, he’s dressed in normal clothes – a blue shirt, and despite not seeing his legs, Mickey knows he’s wearing sweats.  He can tell by the way he sits, slightly lax, no particular posture at the moment.  He’s not constricted by jeans.  Mandy slightly leans into him, giving him the nudge he needs to move from the spot his feet are currently stuck in.  The two siblings walk slowly towards Ian who sits silently as he watches one of the televisions, other patients with their visitors lingering here and there.

The siblings are finally in his line of view and Mickey takes note that he was right.  Ian is in sweats.  His skin is less pale and the red that lined his eyes the last few days before he left is gone.  The two boys stare at each other and suddenly Mandy is gone.  The people around them are gone.   The _not knowing_ is gone.  Ian smiles, the sparkle in his green eyes still not one hundred percent, but more than enough to make Mickey melt in his clothes.  The older boy studies his boyfriend’s face and searches for any signs of distress, any differences, his thoughts racing in the past and the present.  

_“Will you come and visit?” Ian asks after finally agreeing to go back to the hospital._

_Mickey exhales as Ian sucks in a nervous breath.  The answer is a given.  “Every chance I get.”_

_“What if you run out of chances?”  Ian’s eyes dart nervously over Mickey’s face.  The older boy sits next to him on the couch after standing and practically giving a speech._

_“Then I’ll steal them,” Mickey assures.  Besides, he’s good at being a thief._

_Ian stares at him intently, and Mickey is unsure of the look in his eyes.  They’re almost always expressionless.  “And if I’m different?” he asks lowly._

_Mickey leans his head back onto the couch, his blue eyes never leaving the impassive green eyes he constantly searches for clues.  “Then we’ll be different together,” he responds._

_Because essentially, Ian is a part of him, and anything that happens to him, happens to Mickey.  But he knows he’ll always be – Ian._

There’s no noticeable difference, no distress, not even sadness.  Ian pats his hand for Mickey to sit next to him, words still not leaving his lips.  But the glances they exchange speak volumes, the way their eyes automatically connect almost poetic.  Mickey sits down carefully next to his boyfriend, and there’s so much he wants to say, but he struggles to find the words.  Mandy opts to give them a few moments to let it all sink in as she rests in the couch opposite of them. 

Ian knows Mickey’s never been good with words, so he eases his discomfort with trying to find something to say with a gentle kiss.  Mickey kisses back, and it’s enough.  He doesn’t even regard his sister, who’s sitting quietly across from them, and it’s the first time she’s ever seen them kiss, but it isn’t weird.  It’s _them_.

The finally break apart, Ian breaking the silence.  “Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” Mickey responds.  “Missed ya.”

“Me too,” Ian says. 

~~~

Mandy’s charged up and happy after their visit with Ian.  She’s chatting up a storm on the ride home, Mickey allowing her to.  He’s not one for too much talking, but seeing Ian makes him limber, and he’s certain he’s officially turned into a sap.  However, he doesn’t mind, because Ian is healthier and doing a little better.  Right now, that’s all Mickey needs to keep him going.

He still clings to the sheets later that night, but his grip is a little bit looser, the coffee pot is off, and he misses three in the morning as he sleeps through it for the first time in a week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally wrote this while listening to "Coffee" by Yuna on repeat. I've always loved that song, but as I was listening to it today, it fueled my writing for this entire chapter. The words go perfectly with what I was trying to convey here. The line Ian says in the beginning is actually a line from the song. Take a listen! As usual, thanks for reading. Let's hope I can keep up the momentum. My job rules my life, so postings will more than likely be late since it's during the week. Again, thank you! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why the long face Mickey?” Kev looks at the dark haired boy suspiciously as he pours beer from the tap for a customer. 
> 
> “Because of Mumbles,” Mickey says as he continues to stare down his glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gallavich Week Day 3 - Jealousy. Surprisingly I'm keeping up! Sorry, this is another late post, but I hope to have tomorrow's up a bit earlier. I'm just glad I'm finding the time to finish and post these installments. This is pretty much unedited, so I may come back through and make any grammatical corrections I stumble upon. Hope you enjoy. :)

Things at the Alibi are insanely busy today, which is ironic because it’s been a desert all week.  The usual members of the lush club are perched atop their stools, Tommy, Kermit – even fucking Frank.  But the call for pleasing is suddenly higher than normal.  Funny the horny citizens of the Southside choose a Thursday of all days to liven up the place.  Even Svetlana and her Russian squad of whores all complain about needing jaw breaks or some shit.  Mickey inwardly groans as he watches yet another one stomp up the stairs, a client following behind, her fingers massaging her jowls as she opens and closes her mouth while simultaneously cursing in Russian.   He sits down at the bar, half working, half drinking and half buzzed from helping himself one too many times to the Kettle One Kev keeps stashed under the counter for “employees only.”

He may be just a little tipsy, his eyes staring into the clear liquid as it calls his name.  It’s how he chooses to cope because he hasn’t seen Ian all week, and Thursday is one of his three days per week he has for visitation and he can’t make it.  Mickey’s already missed Monday because the hospital nurses claimed Ian was being “uncooperative” and the motherfuckers complained to the Staff Manager who subsequently revoked Ian’s visitation privileges that day.

_“Well what the hell did he do?” Mickey barked.  He wasn’t having any of this nonsense.  He’d be damned if he just came all this way for nothing._

_Ava, the staff manager, looked Mickey up and down as if insulted he would dare ask her such a question.  He couldn’t tell if the bitch was upset or amused because her face was always so fucking tight.  “He hasn’t been following the rules since yesterday Mr. Milkovich,” she began as she crossed her boney arms, “He’s being uncooperative, so he’s lost his visitation for today.”_

_Mickey tried not to lose it with this woman; the same woman who’s seen him coming there for the past two weeks.  Even more than that, he tried not to picture Ian in a straight jacket or strapped to a bed, which he knew, was bullshit.  But he pictured it nonetheless as he exited the hospital._

So now he has to wait until Saturday, which is simply the day after tomorrow, but what if the apocalypse happens before then and half the Earth is under some arctic tundra?  Mickey once again curses at himself for too much quality time with the tube – but Jake Gyllenhaal _is_ fucking cute.  He rubs his tattooed hands down his tired face as he sulks quietly to himself.  He’s pissed off and jonesing more than usual because of how Ian’s mouth manages to find all the right spots at the right time. 

The last time he visited the younger boy, he had gotten the glorious idea of sneaking them into one of the storage closets he knew no one ever went into.  He’d picked the lock, closed the door behind them and nearly tackled him, their bodies crashing into boxes and brooms as he mouthed how much he missed touching Mickey through kisses and sucking marks into his neck.  _“I miss feeling you,”_ Ian had said into Mickey’s neck as he pressed his nose there.  The older boy had shivered at the warmth of his boyfriend’s breath.  Then without hesitation, Ian had dropped to his knees, Mickey feeling just how much he missed him as he took him almost desperately into his mouth, not once coming up for air.

Mickey’s bliss was cut short when he had tried to return the favor, only for Ian to turn him down, saying he was “ok” as he caressed his face with his thumbs.  Despite the lack of light in the closet, Mickey could practically see the shame in Ian’s eyes, and it was then he realized it was the meds he was on.  He’d apologized and said things to Ian, trying to let him know it wasn’t a big deal, only for the red head to shut him up with a kiss.

Now, here Mickey sits, a brooding mess because of vodka and wanting to see Ian.  If it wasn’t for the way the younger boy’s mouth felt on his skin, he wouldn’t be yearning so badly.  On top of that, Mickey’s got a weird feeling in his gut, and it’s one he knows he won’t shake until he at least hears Ian’s voice.  Instead, he gets another familiar one as he’s jolted out of his pity party by the sound of Kev’s voice.

“Why the long face Mickey?”  Kev looks at the dark haired boy suspiciously as he pours beer from the tap for a customer. 

“Because of Mumbles,” Mickey says as he continues to stare down his glass.

Kev’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as he stares at an almost drunk Mickey.  He hands the customer their beer and scratches the top of his head as he continues to look at the kid, the expressions on his face indicative of him deciding whether or not he wants an elaboration.  “Mumbles?”  Kev stops thinking and decides to just ask.  He’s certain Mickey’s losing it.

“My dog I had when I was little,” Mickey began as he finally disconnected his eyes from the vodka.  Now Kev is confused, because what the hell did a childhood dog have to do with him looking like absolute shit?  Mickey continues as he traces his finger around the rim of the shot glass.  “Fuckin’ dog was mine.  Mom got ‘im for me for my tenth birthday, but the mutt got attached to Mandy.  I was so fuckin’ jealous.  She took him outside with her one day, and I thought he’d be ok with her, but he ended up runnin’ in the street and got hit by a car.  He died.”

Now Kermit and Tommy are looking at Mickey as if he’s a crazy person.  Kev eyes the two of them and makes circular motions with his pointer finger around his ear.  He looks back at Mickey, determined for this to make sense.  Instead he opts to inquire about his mental stability.  “Um, are you ok there man?”

“Fine.  Just fine,” Mickey answers lowly.  “But I loved that mutt with my all, ya know?”  He laughs as he reminisces over how the dog got his name.  “I remember when we first got ‘im.  He would make these little mumbling noises in between his barks.  That’s how he got his name.  I loved him and not only did he get attached to somebody else, but he fuckin’ died.  I turned my back for one minute, and he gets hit when I should have been protecting him.”

Mickey pauses and he thinks of Ian.  He thinks of how he calls him Mumbles now, especially when he’s sleepy and cranky.  He longs for the red head’s touch and he longs to make him feel just as good as he made him feel the last time he visited him.  Instead, he sits at the bar drowning in his own thoughts as he sports a weird gnawing in his gut.

“Oh boy,” Kev says through a long sigh.  “It’s the boyfriend blues isn’t it?”  Mickey doesn’t answer, simply shrugs.  “Look, I know you haven’t seen your carrot top in like a week, but hey, he gets to make phone calls right?”

Right.

 _Shit._ Mickey panics as he runs behind the bar to grab his phone out of his coat pocket – the same phone he hasn’t checked in two hours.  He glances nervously at the screen as he unlocks it, seeing four missed calls from the hospital number.  Ian was probably looking for him and called to make sure he was ok.  Mickey wants to shoot himself now, because he can’t call back.  Patients can only make outgoing calls in the recreational room between 12pm-8pm.

Mickey glances down at his watch.  It’s 8:45pm and Ian made his last call at 7:55pm.

~~~

It’s Friday and it’s no visitation today, so Mickey sits by his phone like it’s a lifeline.  He’s hung over and agitated, having downed two, three – four more shots of Kettle One last night after realizing he’d missed all four of Ian’s calls.  A shot for each miss. 

Svetlana’s got Yevgeny for the next few days and Mickey’s glad she moved out and got her own place, because now he can devote all of his attention to looking at his phone screen instead of keeping his son from putting foreign objects in his mouth.  He tries his best to let the guilt subside, but it gets worse with each passing minute.  He settles into the couch as he turns on the television, certain Ian will call any minute. 

Hours later, Mickey is asleep when his phone finally rings.  The tune for “Twisted Nerve” blares from the television as Kill Bill plays in the background.  He flinches and scrambles to grab it, his eyes still foggy with sleep.  The clock reads 7:30pm and he doesn’t bother with checking the number to make sure it’s the one he’s been waiting for because he’s certain it’s Ian.  He feels him through the vibration of each ring, and it seems crazy, but he’s sure and clings the phone tightly as he presses it up to his ear.

“Hello?” Mickey answers.

There’s a brief moment of silence, but Mickey hears a long breath escape the mouth on the other line.  “You finally answered,” Ian says flatly.  Mickey catches the sting of a clearly upset Ian and decides this isn’t the place for pride, but for smoothing things over.

“Look, I’m sorry about yesterday.  The Alibi was busy and I couldn’t make it.”

“Not making a visit is fine Mickey,” Ian says through a sigh, “but not being able to at least hear your voice isn’t.”  Mickey feels himself shrinking into the couch as he picks up on how something too close to sorrow lines Ian’s voice.  There’s nothing more he wants in this moment to just be able to reach his hand through the phone to cup his face.

“I’ll make it up to you next time I visit,” Mickey assures him, “and continue to make it up to you when you’re finally home."  Ian chuckles at that because he knows his boyfriend is making his eyebrows dance the way he always does when he’s being provocative.  He decides it’s impossible to stay mad at Mickey.

“Yes, you will.”  Mickey smiles into the phone and suddenly he feels like Mandy.  He remembers when she used to date Lip, and how she would smile stupidly as she spoke on the phone to him, probably at nothing in particular, or perhaps just the sound of his voice.  He used to secretly make fun of her and how she seemed to be “in love.”  At this time, he and Ian were still fuck buddies only and _fuck love_ was not only his motto, but a piece of art he made himself that hung over his bed.

Now, here he was reaping what he sewed, because he’s certain he’s laughable at how giddy he must look in this very moment.

“I can’t wait to see you tomorrow,” Ian says.  Mickey couldn’t agree more.  “I have to teach you how to play Phase 10.  Cal taught me.”

Mickey pauses.  He thinks for a moment, not because of how foreign Phase 10 sounds, but because of _who the fuck is Cal_?  “Cal?” he asks shortly.

“Yeah, Cal.  Well it’s Cal for short.  His name’s Calvin.”  Mickey shudders at how Ian sounds almost _lively_ as he talks about this guy.  Suddenly, he’s curious about this mysterious Cal.  “He’s a patient here too.  I swear, we played almost all day yesterday after therapy.  Game’s addicting man.”

“All day huh?” Mickey says slightly annoyed.

“Yup.  Says he’ll make me a pro by the time I get out.”  And that, to Mickey, sounds a lot like fucking flirting.  He doesn’t even know the guy, but for some reason he already doesn’t like him.  He’s already feeling shitty for not seeing Ian yesterday and for missing all of his calls, but to now sit here and have to listen to his boyfriend beam about another guy is just wrong.  Talk about throwing salt on a wound.

Then it dawns on him – he’s _jealous._ Him and jealousy don’t get along, never have, because it makes him careless and bad shit happens when he gets careless.  Specifically, bad shit happens to things he loves.

“A pro huh?” Mickey picks the conversation back up after thinking too hard and long.  “Well the game sounds pretty fucking stupid to me.”  He practically hears Ian frown through the phone. 

“Wow, this is so cute,” Ian laughs somewhat heartily into the phone.  The sound is one Mickey hasn’t heard in a while and he craves more.  “You’re jealous.”

Mickey scoffs, because Ian’s right, but he won’t tell him that.  “I’m not fucking jealous.”  But he is just that.  And it’s not just because Ian is yapping away about some dude named Cal, and God that is a stupid fucking name even if it is short for something, but because he spent _his_ time he was supposed to be there with him.  It also seems he’s been spending a lot of other times with the Cal guy as well.

“You are,” Ian continues.  “And I think it’s making me ready for you to return that favor.”  Mickey inwardly groans now, because the other thing he misses is Ian’s monster dick in his mouth.

“Whatever,” Mickey huffs.  He beats down the urge to tell Ian he is jealous and he wants him spending time with no one else.  He beats down wanting to tell him he’s selfish and wants him all to himself.

“This is about Mumbles, isn’t it?” Ian says suddenly.  It makes Mickey pause and hate himself simultaneously for pillow talk and the honesty that comes with it.  He’d told Ian the story of his beloved pooch who had more eyes for Mandy and his tragic ending after the red head inquired about his nick name one night.

“No,” Mickey barked.  And it wasn’t, not _really_.  “It’s about you.”

“And Cal apparently,” Ian adds.  He snickers a bit and Mickey imagines he’s rubbing his hand through his hair the way he does when he’s on to something.  “Just remember what I said to you that night in your room.”

“What?  That no one will ever see me the way your eyes do?” Mickey says in his best no-so-suave Ian voice. 

“Yeah,” Ian responds, his voice softening.  “But remember it and take it for what it’s worth, and what else it means.”

“Which is?” Mickey asks, intrigued and more in love than he was five minutes ago.

“That my eyes are only for you.  Always have been, always will be.”

Mickey lets Ian win at this point, his stomach doing those familiar back flips.  This, he knows.  But he still wants to meet this Cal guy when he visits.

Ian is after all, _his_ Mumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey are currently apart, so I had to think of a really clever way to tie in jealousy. I also created a back story to Ian's new nickname from Mickey, "Mumbles," just because I thought it was the cutest nickname ever. Well, I hope you guys enjoyed, and let's hope I can keep this going for the remainder of the week! Thanks for reading. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s funny how quickly something marvelous can turn into something dreadfully familiar, yet unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gallavich Week Day 4 - Hurt/Comfort. Yeah, so this is a day late, but I ran out of steam last night and was so frustrated with what I was writing I stopped. I know today is sexy times, but since that really doesn't fit with this fic, I'm taking advantage of not writing (only reading) smut and posting this today. AO3 is acting weird, so I just sat and formatted this entire fic HTML style (more annoyed now). I just hope I did this justice. :)
> 
>  **Trigger Warning:** Implications of suicide, cutting. Read with caution (or not at all if this is a trigger for you).

_If the way Ian is staring down at him isn’t any sort of consolation, how close his hand is to his face certainly is. His lips are turned up ever so slightly in the most comfortable smile, and Mickey wonders what his fingers would feel like on his cheek. He’s lying on his stomach with his chin on top of his hands, and it’s a good thing he is, because he knows the way his heart beats for this kid is noticeable through his tank top._

_“Massage me around my ass Gallagher,” Mickey says through a devilish grin. He’s wounded and Ian owes him for being the basis of the bullet to his right cheek._

_“Wouldn’t that be kind of, I don’t know – painful?” Ian snorts as he crosses his arms. He shifts on the couch and playfully nudges the top of Mickey’s head with the side of his thigh ever so gently, in that moment wishing he’d rested his head in his lap. But that would be considered out of bounds._

_“Exactly why I said around my ass,” Mickey says back, putting emphasis on the word ‘around.’ He nudges Ian back with his elbow, trying his best to act as if he didn’t just think about placing his head in his lap. “You’re the reason I got fucking shot, again mind you. You should be taking care of me right now Gallagher.”_

_“Isn’t that what boyfriends do for each other?” Ian asks mockingly._

_Mickey grows silent. This topic is taboo and he knows talking about it will make him wonder. Wondering is never good for him, especially when it comes to Ian. The boy makes him less inhibited and less afraid of what will happen if he decides to push things just…a little…further. Suddenly Mickey remembers the way Ian’s lips felt on his in the van, warm and soft, and that’s strike-fucking-one for him breaking one of his rules._

_“Fuck off,” Mickey finally blurts out. He focuses his eyes back on the TV in his living room, not really knowing what to say next. Feelings have gotten involved, and he finds them messy – they get all over every part of you and make things sticky. He has no time for peeling Ian off of him._

_He’s caught off guard suddenly by the sensation of hands on his shoulders. Ian’s hands. They squeeze gently, building the pressure ever so slowly before working their way down to the small of Mickey’s back. He feels himself unraveling because Ian is giving him a massage and being attentive._

_“How’s this?” Ian asks as he makes circular motions in Mickey’s lower back with his thumbs._

_Mickey’s too tongue tied from his touch to talk. “Mmhmm,” he hums in approval. He marvels at just how natural this feels._

_Ian is quiet for a few minutes as he works out the tension in his back – works out the doubts and hesitations that normally burrow underneath his skin. “Would you ever take care of me like this if I needed it?” Ian asks. His tone is somewhat serious._

_Mickey pauses again, but not as long this time. He’s feeling impulsive. “I don’t know how to take care of anyone Gallagher. But if you needed it, I s’pose I could learn.” He glances up through his dark lashes at Ian and sees him smile._

_Mickey doesn’t take back what he said. He rolls with it, despite knowing that taking care of him would be something boyfriends supposedly do._

~~~

He doesn’t have skin like Ian. This, Mickey knows. He’s always considered his alligator-like, tough enough to take on all the shit that was constantly thrown at him, punched into him. However, his outside layers never really extend to his mind. His thoughts could be feeble and easily broken, but he’d always have that tough outer shell that’s always kept him safe. But with Ian – his mind is his skin, and when his thoughts are broken, so are his three layers. It’s the perfect recipe for fragility and being exposed.

So Mickey’s become his extra covering, his _shield._ He keeps this in mind as he rushes to the hospital, having just received a few, rather unnerving texts from Fiona.

_[ **Fiona 4:45pm:** You need to go see Ian]_

_[ **Mickey 4:46pm:** I already planned on it. why is somethin wrong?]_

_[ **Fiona 4:49pm:** I think you should find out for yourself]_

_[ **Mickey 4:51pm:** find out for myself?]_

_[ **Mickey 4:55pm:** Fiona…]_

_[ **Fiona 4:57pm:** Please…just go]_

_[ **Mickey 5:00pm:** I’m already headed to the L]_

The alligator comparison is tossed out the window as Mickey rides the L nervously. His skin feels like mush and he’s certain he’s in a state where he could easily be hurt right now, especially if Ian’s hurt.

It’s Monday and he was feeling rather marvelous because of Ian’s eyes. He finally got to see them on Saturday, that shade of green unique only to Ian – a color Mickey’s committed to memory. He was also feeling relieved and more at ease since Cal ended up not being so bad and was actually excited to meet “Ian’s partner,” as he’d called him when they were introduced. Any worries the older boy had subsided with how Ian’s eyes focused only on him as they played Phase 10, Cal showing them the tricks of the game.

It’s funny how quickly something marvelous can turn into something dreadfully familiar, yet unexpected. Mickey’s fear for Ian and the grinding _need_ to be needed is familiar, but the sudden ominous, cryptic messages from his sister are anything but. It’s the changing of things that’s always thrown him for a loop, just like when the _supposedly’s_ in his life became _definitely’s_. So it’s nothing out of the ordinary when he enters the hospital like a raging bull, practically yelling his demands.

“Where is he?” he barks as he approaches the Receptionist’s desk. A young girl looks up at Mickey, her face twisted in confusion. Mickey groans because she’s new, so she has no clue who he is or who he’s referring to.

“Um, where’s who sir?” the girl says as she continues to stare through large brown eyes. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yeah, Ian Gallagher,” Mickey starts impatiently, “where is he?”

The girl’s face then turns into an expression indicating that she _knows_ something, her eyes getting wide before darting nervously to one of the nurses walking towards the desk. “Uh…” she trails off as she stands, “just one moment.” The girl makes her way to the nurse, leaving Mickey in a trail of unanswered questions. He shakes his head, because he knows that look – it’s a look people get when shit’s not right.

“No I can’t fucking wait,” he says sternly as he follows the girl. She’s talking to Margie now, Ian’s main nurse. Mickey’s glad, because she’s rather fond of the red head, and although there was an adjustment period, she eventually grew fond of him as well. She now calls them her _babies._ He stomps towards the portly woman, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. “Where is he Margie? Can I see him? If not, tell me what the hell is wrong and don’t beat around no fucking bush about it.”

Margie’s face is tired, yet she looks caringly at Mickey, genuine concern etched in the lines of her slightly aged face. “You can see him Mickey,” she starts as she signals the young girl that it’s ok to go back to her desk. She returns her focus to Mickey. “But I have to be in there with you,” she says, her voice softening. She then plants her palm to her forehead as she turns and talks lowly to herself, _“Goodness I could’ve sworn they got the combination of his meds right.”_

Mickey hears this and his heart almost beats through his sternum. “Margie – what is going on?” His voice is softer now, because Ian’s well-being does that. Margie turns, the freckles splayed across her cheeks suddenly reminding Mickey of how Ian’s used to look like that – when he was vibrant, undisturbed, _healthy._

“Ian’s crashed again honey,” she says almost hesitantly. “The combination of meds he was on seemed to be working, but things have taken a turn.” Mickey’s shifting nervously from side to side, everything around him suddenly crashing down. His lips are pressed tightly together as he grinds down on his teeth. Margie lifts her hand and places it on Mickey’s shoulder, motherly touches from her he’s somehow gotten used to. “Mickey – he’s on suicide watch.”

Mickey’s breath catches in his throat and his knees suddenly grow weak. “Suicide watch? W-what does that mean?” He’s no dummy. He knows exactly what that means, but until he hears an explanation, his ears refuse to own the information just told to him.

“I don’t know how he got into the storage closet. My baby must’ve picked the lock; a mischievous one that boy. But he found a box cutter, and – “

“No, no…no fucking way,” Mickey cuts her off. He knows what she’s about to say, but he doesn’t want to hear it. His body can’t handle it. He shakes his head madly in denial. “I just saw him Saturday and he was fine. Nothing was wrong with him, he was smiling and playing that card game he loves. Fine I’m telling you. He was _fine_.” Water is now pooling in the corners of his eyes, but he refuses to cry. Ian needs him now. “Take me to him.”

“Ok dear, but he’s quite unresponsive.” Margie motions for Mickey to follow her as she continues to speak. “His sister was here about two hours ago, and she could barely get him to speak, let alone look at her. She sat with him for a while before leaving. She said she was going to contact you and get you up here; said he may respond to you.”

Mickey follows the nurse through the hallway, passing the main visiting area. Instead of asking why they aren’t going in, he follows her silently. She takes him deeper into the hospital, and they eventually end up in a secluded area not too far from the nurse’s station. “He’s in here,” she says as she looks back at Mickey. “This is one of our private TV areas. Some patients come in here when they can’t stand to be around too many people. We also allow private visits in here.”

She opens the door slowly and the first thing Mickey sees is a white uniform. It’s another nurse, a male, and he’s sitting near the far window with his arms crossed staring at the television on the wall. Mickey’s eyes drift slowly over to Ian who’s sitting on the couch, his legs propped up and pressed into his chest. There’s uneaten food on the table in front of him. He expected to see him lying almost lifeless, but he doesn’t, so Mickey counts this as victory number one. Ian’s eyes finally find Mickey and his lips twitch ever so subtly, his eyes lighting up for just a minute, before dulling again.

“How’s he doing Dave?” Margie asks the male nurse. “He responsive?”

“How long do you all plan on watching me like a caged animal?” Ian blurts out. Mickey’s taken aback, because from the way Margie made it sound, Ian was supposed to be a catatonic mess. Mickey’s not surprised though, because _supposedly’s_ stopped fitting into his life long ago.

The male nurse snorts as he stands. He shoots a glance towards an obviously agitated red head. Mickey’s bothered because the guy looks like Kenyatta – not a good look right now. “Oh he’s responsive alright,” he says as he walks pass Mickey and Margie, “Not exactly a chatty Cathy, but he’s peeved with us for sure. Got a lil’ attitude goin’ on there.” The male nurse shrugs as he walks down the hallway back towards the main visiting area.

Mickey walks slowly into the room, but Margie isn’t walking behind him. He turns towards the nurse, the look on his face all she needs. She nods, understanding that he wants to be alone with Ian. “I’ll be right out here at the nurse’s station if you need me, ok?”

“Thanks,” Mickey says. He knows she’s probably breaking the rules, but she’s also from the Southside, so he’s not too surprised.

Ian still isn’t looking at Mickey. His face is blank, although slightly frowned, as he stares at nothing in particular. Mickey slides next to him, making sure his movements are careful, because when Ian is like this, fast movements agitate him and stir up his nerves. The older boy remains silent for a few minutes, allowing Ian some time, but more than that, he’s giving himself a chance to look him over. He has to make sure he’s physically ok. His eyes land on Ian’s left wrist which is bandaged, but notices his right wrist is bare.

“I know what they told you,” Ian finally says looking away still. Mickey immediately picks up on his breathing and the way it starts to pick up. His own chest tightens, a chain reaction that started with him when Ian first crashed. “I know you think I’m so fucked up.”

Mickey’s partial to this thought, because they came to a consensus long ago, that they were both fucked up. It was a family thing, a Southside thing. But as long as they were fucked up together, it didn’t matter. “I don’t think that,” Mickey finally says through a sigh. He rubs his hands up and down his jeans, his fingertips practically burning to just reach out and grab Ian’s hand. But he refrains, because touching in these instances has turned out to be almost forbidden. So he gives Ian time.

“I couldn’t do it.” Ian’s voice is shakier now, less certain and almost fearful. His breathing picks up. Mickey prepares to act as his cover, because his skin is emblematically tearing with each passing minute. “I woke up feeling like absolute shit. I snuck into the storage closet earlier, not for what all of those nurses think, but because _we_ were in there once. I was looking for hints of you anywhere.” Ian finally turns and looks at Mickey, his stare something chaotic and beautiful. “I figured being alone in there thinking about you would make me feel better, but it didn’t. It got worse. Then I got scared thinking you would get tired of…of this, and stop showing up one day. So I spotted a box cutter…b-but I only did one wrist. I couldn’t – “

“It’s ok Ian. You don’t have to explain anything to me.” Mickey cuts him off, not because he’s sick of listening, but because Ian is getting more agitated and he’s on the verge of a fit. He finally says fuck it, grabbing for his boyfriend’s hand – he’s done far worse. Instead of retreating or flinching nervously, Ian laces his fingers with Mickey’s.

Ian lies on his side, and places his head in Mickey’s lap. It feels familiar and suddenly the thoughts in his head aren’t so loud. He stares at the wall and thinks of his sister, the shame he felt when she rushed to see him etched in his mind. “I couldn’t even look at Fiona when she came to see me,” Ian says lowly. “I was so scared she thought I was just like Monica. Maybe I am.” The last sentence is barely audible, but Mickey’s ears know Ian’s voice so well, he’d recognize it under water, through any white noise.

“Besides your illness, you’re nothing like your mother,” Mickey assures him. He runs his fingers through Ian’s hair, his fingers gently massaging his scalp. He’s certain he feels wetness gathering in his jeans right beneath Ian’s eyes. They’re tears, so he moves his hand underneath Ian’s shirt and begins to rub circles in his back. He hears a sniffle, followed by a sigh of comfort escape the younger boy’s mouth. “I’m never gonna stop showing up,” Mickey promises Ian as he continues to console him through his fingertips. “So you can kill that noise right now because I’ll always be doing this.”

Ian breathes deeply, agreeing in the way he leans more into Mickey’s touch. “Doing what?” he asks as he turns so he’s now on his back looking up into blue eyes.

Mickey gently brushes his thumb across Ian’s forehead as his fingers once again find their way to his hair. “Learning to take care of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic started out somewhat angst driven, so I think that's why I struggled with this chapter that's supposed to be the most angsty. I'll be honest - I'm not too happy with it. I think I thought too hard about it. I also didn't have any musical inspiration (which is one of the things that fuels and inspires me when I write). But I did listen to "Is There Somebody Who Can Watch You" by The 1975 and "Households" by Sleeping At Last a bit. "Perth" by Bon Iver may have been in there too. But I hope this was decent, and as usual, thanks for reading. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Few things in Mickey’s life make sense. So when Ian finally grabs a bucking Yevgeny, the way he immediately grabs Ian’s nose with his hand when they finally connect adds one more thing to his short list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gallavich Week Day 6 - Ian and Mickey as dads. Sorry for being a day late with this one as well. I'm behind, so the last installment may be up really late tonight, or tomorrow afternoon. This primarily focuses on Mickey and Yevgeny, but ropes in Ian as well. I may have romanticized this chapter a bit? Sue me, haha. We need some good romanticized feels sometimes - we deserve it! Hope you enjoy. :)

For the first month of his innocent life, Mickey refused to touch his son.   If you asked him about it then, he’d say he had every right to keep his hands to himself.  Yevgeny was hypothetical; a coincidence that happened to line up with the timeframe of _that_ day on the couch – the day when Svetlana hypothetically fucked the faggot out of him.  _Epic fail_. 

Even when Svetlana finally forced the kid into his arms, making threats about stabbing up hearts and witnessing death through bleeding out, Mickey still refused.  He’d be damned if she got anywhere near Ian, nevertheless he made no concrete promises.  Although he physically cradled this life that was supposedly an extension of him, he rejected it because he was just a reminder that he’d never control his _own_ life.  Even through an infant, his father had a hold on him.

But as he always says now, the _supposedly’s_ became _definitely’s_ and things took a turn.  Something was _definitely_ wrong with Ian, Mickey was _definitely_ in love with him, and not too long after that – Yevgeny was _definitely_ his son.

Now, as he sits with the little ball of drool and chubby flesh, the time when his hands didn’t know his son seems like a lifetime ago.  It’s like they’d yearned to know him all along, because the moment Mickey accepted his role as his father, Yevgeny cooed, placing his tiny hand in the center of his palm and suddenly, it all felt right.

It’s Mickey’s weekend to have the baby, and Svetlana’s disappeared off somewhere with her main squeeze Sasha.  She was acting bizarre when she dropped him off, being nicer than usual, speaking actual sentences that didn’t consist of her usual, _“I find one scratch on Yevgeny and I give you ten fucking more.”_   She’d actually spoken about how he’d grown as a father, despite it being more of a critique than a compliment, which was unusual to Mickey, but it became outright creepy when she actually spoke well of Ian.

_“You know, your carrot boy provided for your son before you did,” Svetlana said as she eyed Mickey up and down.  He would feel insulted, but she was far from mother of the year._

_“The fuck are you talkin’ about?” Mickey barked.  He just wanted his son and her time was up now._

_Svetlana crossed her legs as she smirked, her foot swinging merrily back and forth.  “That day I threatened to call your father in the Gallagher kitchen,” she began as she grabbed a cigarette, “he came by the house later that evening and brought a bag of baby clothes for him.  Apparently he was worried because Yevgeny was in nothing but a onesie.  Your sister shared this with me not too long ago.”_

_Mickey would’ve been lying if he said he could care less, but he did.  In fact – hearing this made something click, the warmth beneath his skin unexpected.  But he wouldn’t dare let Svetlana know what this meant to him.  “And why are you telling me this?”_

_Svetlana’s phone buzzed, causing her to stand as she read a message on her screen.  She grabbed her purse and smiled as she walked pass Mickey, making her way to the door.  She turned before walking out, leaning in to kiss Yevgeny again before she left.  “Your boyfriend,” she said as she focused back on Mickey, “would make a good father one day.”_

_Mickey watched her leave, still wondering what it was she really meant._

He’s still trying to figure out if Svetlana’s remark about Ian was a genuine thought, or a sarcastic low blow to him.  Mickey ignores the notion.  He’s just glad he has Yevgeny, because he gets to bring him to the hospital with him tomorrow.  Ian’s been asking for him for the past two weeks for a reason Mickey struggles to pinpoint, because he’s only held him once, a few days before his mind caved and told him he couldn’t anymore.  In fact, he’d held Yevgeny before Mickey did.

“Remember him?” Mickey says as he looks down at his son.  He holds up a picture of Ian as he dangles it above Yevgeny, the one with his middle finger in the forefront of the picture, the same one he used to keep hidden and guarded like a secret treasure.  He doesn’t hide it anymore – in fact, he keeps it on his nightstand, out for anyone to see.

Yevgeny rests comfortably on his back in Mickey’s lap and starts to make giggling noises as he kicks his tiny legs, his hands reaching up towards the picture.  Mickey smiles because he’s reacting as if the face is familiar.  He’s not surprised Ian has that affect, because still in a 3x5, he does this – makes people smile, even the ones who don’t. 

It’s then in this moment that Mickey realizes he has two reasons to live for.

Before Ian came along, he didn’t believe in much, strived for even less.  Growing up a Milkovich doesn’t give you many options, or standards.  So he went about wreaking havoc, smashing, disregarding, _breaking_.  Then along came one red head with more charisma than he could stomach, but craved.  Mickey would’ve ran the other way if he’d known the kid came equipped with a chisel and a heart stronger than any punch he’d ever taken to the face.  Over the years, Ian picked away at his hard surface, eventually breaking through the denials and _fuck love’s_.  In a sense, Yevgeny wasn’t much different from Ian.  He essentially came out of nowhere and Mickey wasn’t ready for him – at least in the beginning.  So it was no wonder that these two lives were meant to be in his.

 Mickey lowers the picture so it’s within arm’s reach for little Yevgeny who’s stretching his tiny extremities to their limit.  His lips are pursed in concentration and his blue eyes are wide as he tries to figure out how he can get this photo in his grasp.  Once his hand touches the slightly frayed edge, he lets out a giggle that makes Mickey’s heart stutter.  “Yeah,” Mickey says as he looks down at a bustling baby boy, “he’s hard to forget.”

~~~

Mickey’s slightly frustrated when he arrives at the hospital.  Yevgeny is a fussy mess, and the ride on the L was tiresome.  Almost everyone on the train shot him glances as if he didn’t know what he was doing, _“Please just shut that baby up already,”_ an obvious thought in every last one of their heads.  Their faces twisted up in disgust as he tried to hush Yevgeny, failing miserably to do so.  If he didn’t have to hold the little guy, he would’ve left a nice _FUCK_ imprint on all of their faces, sans the old people.  They didn’t seem to mind much, only looked endearingly at a young new father who obviously did not know what he was doing.

Mickey knows fatherhood is a learning process, just like taking care of someone.

“Aren’t you the cutest little thing right now with your baby strapped to the front of you like that,” Margie says when she spots Mickey at the Receptionist’s desk.  It’s Mickey’s first time bringing Yevgeny to the hospital, but she’s already well aware that Mickey has a son.  She didn’t dig and ask how the little guy came along, especially since he has Ian.  He was so appreciative when she didn’t – because how he came along is one for the movies.  “You cannot go anywhere until I hold him!” she beams as she assists and obviously frustrated Mickey, grabbing Yevgeny’s baby bag for him and placing it on the desk.

“He’s a fussy mess right now,” Mickey huffs as he loosens his baby carrier off of the front of his chest.

“Well did ya feed him?”

“Yeah I did, right before we came here.”  Mickey finally gets Yevgeny out and hands him over to Margie.  She has four kids of her own, all teenagers now, so he knows she’s excited to hold an infant again. 

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” she says as she cradles the baby close to her chest, “and very upset too.”  She then turns Yevgeny who starts crying again to the side, squeezing his diaper.  “Well here’s the problem sweetie.  He’s holding Lake Michigan down there.  When’s the last time you changed his diaper?”

Mickey’s embarrassed at his fathering skills, because he hasn’t changed him since this morning.  He was so distracted getting them ready to come see Ian, he’d forgotten to even check his diaper, and he hadn’t smelled anything.  He’s not surprised too much pee makes him fussy, because he remembers his mom used to tell him stories about how he hated being wet when he was a baby.  “This morning,” Mickey finally answers, embarrassment obvious in his tone.

Margie lets out a cackle as she rubs Mickey’s arm.  “No need to be embarrassed honey.  You’re a new father, it happens.  I remember when me and Greg had our first, he’d forgotten to even put a diaper on Greg Jr. underneath his onesie once.  Talk about a mess later, woo!  And it was number two, not number one.”  Mickey laughs at Margie as he grabs wipes and a fresh diaper out of Yevgeny’s baby bag.  He motions to Margie so he can grab him and change him, only for her to shoot a glance at him.  “I got it honey,” she says as she takes the diaper and wipes out of his hand, “I miss these times.”  Mickey’s surprised he no longer cringes at the sweet names she calls him.

After having her fill of the infant, Margie leads Mickey back to the main visiting area.  She still has Yevgeny cradled in her arms, already attached to the little guy.  Mickey’s not surprised when he sees Ian at one of the tables playing Phase 10 with Cal.  Although not as lively as the Saturday before his incident, he looks a lot better.  He’s smiling slightly as he concentrates on the game – according to Cal last visit, Ian is nearing “pro status.”

“Look who’s here,” Margie says as she approaches the table.  Ian’s smile widens when he notices Yevgeny in her arms. 

“This the famous Yevgeny?” Cal asks as he stands.  He’s a few inches taller than Ian, his hair just as black as Mickey’s.  He has a crooked nose and brown eyes.  The first time Mickey saw him, he though he looked like Adrien Brody.

“It certainly is,” Margie answers before Mickey can get a word in edgewise.

“Looks like someone’s attached already,” Cal says as he continues to study Yevgeny.  He doesn’t reach his hand out to touch the baby, only stands with his arms behind his back.  He learned not too long ago from Ian that the guy has personal space issues, even with children. 

Mickey’s pleasantly surprised when he suddenly feels two arms wrap around his waist from behind.  It’s Ian and he plants a quick kiss on his cheek.  “Thanks for bringing him,” he says close to his ear.  Mickey practically trembles from the contact and the feel of his warm breath on his ear.  He turns his head to face Ian and plants a quick kiss of his own on his lips.

“Ugh young love,” Margie says as she makes her way over to the two of them.  “Well I guess it’s time I let go of the little guy.  He’s a handsome little fella,” she says as she finally hands Yevgeny back to Mickey.  “Bring him back by before you leave sweetie.  I need just one more sniff of that little neck.”

“I will,” Mickey assures the nurse as she gets back to her duties.  He hears Ian chuckle to his side as he Margie saunters off.  “What’s so funny?”

“Margie just loves calling you sweet names,” Ian picks.

“Fuck off,” Mickey smiles.  His tone is far from harsh.

Cal walks over and nods his head to them.  “Well I’ll leave you two to it,” he says with his cards in his hand.  “Lance over there has challenged me, and to that, I must respond.”  Mickey snickers at how proper the guy is.

“What’s wrong with him again?” Mickey asks Ian as he walks away.

“Ah, you know – OCD, depression, severe anxiety.”  The OCD to Mickey isn’t a surprise.  “Apparently playing Phase 10 helps him keep is OCD to a minimum.”

They make their way over to the far end of the room to the couch Ian was sitting on when Mickey and Mandy first visited.  They sit so they’re facing the window.  Once they’re seated, Ian looks endearingly down at Yevgeny who already has a death grip on Mickey’s pointer finger, his tongue poking out of his tiny mouth as he tries to figure out how to get it in his mouth.  Mickey looks over at Ian, who seems to be at a loss of words.  He knows he wants to hold him, but for some reason, he isn’t asking.

“Wanna hold him?” Mickey asks.  Ian doesn’t respond, just simply nods his head ‘yes’ as the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly.  “You won’t hurt him,” Mickey says.  He can tell Ian is eager, but hesitant, the words _“Seems like all I’ve done is hurt people lately,”_ which he’d said to Mickey last week, more than likely playing in his mind.

Ian rubs his hands nervously up and down his jeans as Mickey picks up Yevgeny off of his lap.  He holds the baby up and turns him towards Ian.  Yevgeny’s eyes land immediately on Ian’s face, and just as he’d done earlier when looking at the photo of him, the baby boy began to giggle and kick his tiny legs as drool dribbled down his chin.  His fingers looked almost as if they were trying to grasp Ian as he extended his arms the best he could. 

Few things in Mickey’s life make sense.  So when Ian finally grabs a bucking Yevgeny, the way he immediately grabs Ian’s nose with his hand when they finally connect adds one more thing to his short list.  The way he feels at the sight _makes sense._ His heart stutters when Ian smiles, this time exposing his teeth.  “This makes sense,” Ian says suddenly as he brings Yevgeny close to his chest.  It feels as if he’s been reading Mickey’s mind, because he was just thinking this exact thing.  Mickey guesses this is what happens when you have a true connection with someone.

“What does?” Mickey asks curiously.

“This,” Ian says as he looks over at Mickey, “you, me, him – _us_.”  He catches the blush that creeps into Mickey’s cheeks before the older boy quickly looks away and rubs his thumb across his bottom lip.  What Ian has just said is somewhat overwhelming, and he’s fucking embarrassed he’s reacting like a little girl over it.  Ian gives him a moment, clearly aware that what he’s said has weight, and he feels it also, tugging in his own chest.  He places Yevgeny on his back in his lap, the baby instantly grabbing a hold to one of his fingers.  “It’s weird,” Ian says as he looks down at the baby, “almost feels like he’s mine too.  Kinda always has.”

Mickey doesn’t really know what to say as he turns his gaze back to Ian, his cheeks their normal pallid color.  So he opts for something simple.  “Really now?” he asks, his voice breaking slightly.

“Yeah,” Ian says as he lifts Yevgeny and brings him close to his face until their foreheads touch.  The baby boy lets out another giggling noise as he kicks again, placing both of his chubby, little hands on Ian’s cheeks.  He’s cradling the red head’s face staring right in his eyes as if communicating silently before he places his small open mouth on Ian’s nose.  Ian laughs, _really laughs_ at the contact and Mickey feels he’ll almost fucking cry from what he’s seeing, hearing. 

And for the first time in his entire life, Mickey feels something he’s never felt before – _inspired_.  His life’s been merely an intermission until now, and now he feels things can truly start; he can actually make things happen.  He decides right then and there that Ian and Yevgeny are his life, and he’ll make it the best one possible for them.

“He is,” Mickey finally says.  Ian turns his head the best he can, because Yevgeny’s got a Milkovich grip on his face with his hands.  He peers over a tiny arm blocking his view of his boyfriend.

“He’s what?” Ian asks through a mouthful of a baby’s hand.  He’s already forgotten his previous statement as Yevgeny moves his attention to his mouth.

“Yours,” Mickey say wholeheartedly.  Ian’s eyes widen at Mickey’s statement.  “Well he could be,” Mickey edits, embarrassed at how forward he’s being. 

But essentially, Mickey _is_ his, and anything that belongs to him, belongs to Ian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter mainly to the song, "Lovely Intermission" by Yuna, and a little to "Bravest Everything" as well. I tend to really run with the idea that Ian and Mickey could run off into the sunset and raise Yevgeny together (cheesy I know). While canonically that may not be feasible (who knows what the writers will do though), I wrote it anyway! Leave me alone haha. Thanks for reading! One more chapter after this. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It could be like this always.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gallavich Week Day 7 - "Was I just invited to sleepover?" Ian and Mickey lazy in bed together. Here is the last installment of this fic. It's been a blast writing this, and definitely a challenge. I've never written so much over a span of a week. While this entire chapter isn't all Ian and Mickey being lazy in bed together, it's in there. I used this element more for significance and I hope that comes across. Hope you enjoy. :)

_“It could be like this always.”_

_Mickey shifts next to Ian on his tiny twin bed, taking in the site of messy, red morning hair and a lazy grin.  Always.  It’s a word Mickey knows in terms of the definition, but it’s something he’s tried to stay away from his entire life.  Always meant the long haul – always meant forever.  And forever for Mickey doesn’t exist.  He simply lives in the here’s and now’s because that’s what someone who only knows how to survive does.  “You know it can’t,” he responds to Ian._

_A look of defeat crosses the younger boy’s face and Mickey feels his heart sink sideways.  He knew inviting Ian over for this “sleepover” would get messy, those sticky feelings Mickey tries to dodge getting all over the both of them.  It’s in their hair and on their skin – inside of them.  It’s impossible to run from, especially when your feet feel as if you’re trudging through tar because of the stick.  Still, Mickey knows he has to try because this thing with Ian can’t go beyond what it is._

_“But you want it to be,” Ian finally says.  He’s persistent, a true Phoenix because Mickey’s burned him multiple times, only for him to come back even stronger.  But aside from that, he’s also right.  Mickey wants it to be like this always, for them to fall asleep in the night, limbs tangled and sex-sweaty, so they can wake up in a morning afterglow._

_“ ~~I do want this~~. Doesn’t matter what I want,” Mickey says as he turns on his back, looking up at the ceiling.  “We both know this is a one off thing.  Not even sure it’ll happen again.”_

_This “not sure” to Ian sounds like a future possibly, so he clings to the notion, turning on his side so he’s now facing Mickey.  “Sounds like a maybe to me.  I’ll take it.”_

~~~

Mickey’s not one for celebrations or parties.  He’s always found them tedious and garish, too much going on for something that probably isn’t a big deal.  A birthday?  Shit, everyone gets older.  Graduation?  A piece of paper gets handed to you only to promise you’ll still struggle and be in debt for the rest of your life.  No fucking thank you.

So when he gets wind that Ian is coming home in a week, it’s no surprise the Gallagher siblings want to throw some big shindig, and even less of a surprise that he hates the idea.  They’re such a kitsch clan these Gallaghers, and Mickey’s sure his family isn’t any better, but he’s the total opposite of all this party business.  He’d rather just bring Ian back to pizza and a six pack while they lay lazily together on the couch watching those Van Damme flicks he loves so much.  But he knows it wouldn’t even make sense for him to argue this, because he’d be outnumbered six to one – even Mandy’s on board and hyped about the idea.

“What’s wrong Mickey?” Debbie asks as she walks over to the couch.  Yevgeny is perched atop her hip shaking some rattling toy thing Fiona bought for him and the sound is fucking annoying.  She slides next to him, placing Yevgeny between them, who immediately begins to giggle as he bangs the rattle on Mickey’s thigh.  He’s been at the Gallagher house for the past two hours, pretending to help with planning this party, surrounded by laughter and noise he’s not used to hearing.  It dawns on him that he probably hasn’t even tried to hide how much he dislikes the entire idea.

He turns and looks at Debbie who’s looking up at him expectantly.  It’s a look that reminds him so much of Ian.  “I’m just not really feeling this whole party thing,” he says as he eases the rattle out of Yevgeny’s hand.  He instantly starts to cry, until Mickey replaces the toy with a stuffed animal.  It doesn’t make noise and does the trick.

“Are you not excited Ian’s coming home?” she asks.  Mickey smiles because Debbie Gallagher is so inquisitive, just like her brother, and it’s actually refreshing. 

“Course I am,” he starts as he picks up his son who’s now exploring how the stuffed animal tastes, “it’s just, I think he’d be ok with something more low key after being gone for eighty four days.”

Debbie gives Mickey a look that suddenly makes him uncomfortable.  It’s endearing and he has to look away for a second, because he’s not used to the whole family bonding thing.  “You kept count?” she finally blurts out.

Mickey’s face suddenly turns beet red, because he had kept count, but no one knew that.  He thanks his lucky stars it’s Debbie he’s talking to, because he knows she’s the one out of all the Gallagher siblings who saw him and Ian with the purest set of eyes – her and Carl.  He knows he has no reason to be embarrassed because there’s no judgment in her tone.  Nevertheless, he shrinks into himself just a little before deciding to throw caution to the wind.  “I have,” he responds honestly.

Eighty four days.  Eighty four fucking days it’s been since Ian’s been in the hospital.  While visiting helped with coping, not actually having Ian in his bed when he went to sleep and when he woke up still made things difficult.  Mickey was greedy when it came to Ian and needed more than one hour per visit.  So he’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t count the days he woke up cold, the emptiness of his bed creating an icy loneliness only Ian could thaw.  Keeping count was all he had to cling to, so he did it, the actual counting making Ian coming home more tangible. 

“I think that’s sweet,” Debbie says as she stands. 

Mickey watches as she walks back to the group planning in the kitchen.  He takes out his phone and opens a picture he took of Ian last week.  His meds are finally balanced, and the smile on his face is one he hasn’t seen in a long time.  He’s holding Yevgeny, who has an open mouth on his cheek as he drools all over him.  A smile stretches across his face as his baby boy begins to buck his legs, reaching out towards the phone.  “Yup, he’s coming home,” Mickey says to Yevgeny.  “I’m excited too.”

~~~ 

Lip insists that he goes to pick up Ian.  Mickey insists that he fucking does not.  He’s been preparing for this day for eighty four days and he already told Ian he was coming to get him.  Mandy’s watching Yevgeny, and he’s already preparing to hop on the L, so it’s not an option.

“Do you really want Ian to have his first day out in, who knows how long, riding on the L?” Lip barks out at Mickey.  And of-fucking-course he wouldn’t know how long his own brother’s been gone.  Mickey scoffs as he grabs his house keys, making his way towards the door.  “Mickey, c’mon man.  Just let me go pick him up.  You can wait for him back at our house.”

“Why the fuck did you come here, huh?” Mickey huffs as he turns to face Lip.  “So you can fucking badger me?  I already told you, Ian’s expecting me, so I’m going.”

“So protective,” Lip says smugly.  Mickey feels his fists ball instinctively at that.  Instead of inflicting damage, which he wants to do so badly, he laughs.

“Don’t try to make up for how distant you’ve been since Ian’s been sick by pointing out something he needs.  I’m not ashamed of that so you can hold your fuckin’ horses with the reverse Psychology bullshit.”  Lip’s eyes widen at Mickey’s remark.  Essentially, he’s right, and he can’t help but feel like he’s been letting his brother down for months now.

Lip scratches his head as he squints his eyes, looking around him as if making sure no one will appear and hear what he’s about to say.  “Look, you’re right ok?” he says as he moves in closer to the angry Milkovich, which is really pushing his luck.  “I just feel like I haven’t been there like I should, and I fucking admit that.  You’ve been good to him when I haven’t.  Just…please, let me pick him up so we can talk as brothers.”

Mickey doesn’t care too tough for Lip Gallagher, he doesn’t.  But he can’t help but respect his honesty, and admittance.  He thinks fleetingly about pissing on his sand castle before obliging.  If there’s one thing Ian’s taught him, it’s that there’s nothing wrong with being the good guy sometimes.  “Fine,” Mickey says as he retreats back in the house.  “Just let him know this was your idea, and that I’ll see him later.”

“Thanks man,” Lip says as he moves in for a handshake.

“Don’t push your fuckin’ luck,” Mickey bites as he smirks and turns around.  “No go on before I change my mind.”

Lip saunters off almost giddily and Mickey can’t help but think how ridiculous he looks.

~~~

They’re late and Mickey is on edge with waiting.  Lip and Ian were supposed to be there an hour ago, and he can’t help but imagine that they’re somewhere chopping it up, forgetting about everyone else.  The party decorations are distracting, the “ _Welcome Home Ian”_ sign too colorful for someone like Ian.

“Does the music have to be so fucking loud?” Mickey barks as he walks up to Mandy, who’s laughing loudly with Fiona and Vee.  He cringes because he doesn’t remember when Mandy even started liking them.  She scowls as she turns towards her brother, acting as if he’s disturbing her fun.  Quite frankly he doesn’t give a fuck, because he’s already over this whole thing.

“Do you have to be such a grouch about it?” she asks sarcastically.  “You’re antsy waiting, I get it.  But calm yourself, because they just got here.”

Mickey turns to the sound of everyone shouting _“Ian!”_ and _“Welcome back!”_ Despite the fact that he was able to see Ian during his stay in the hospital, this is somehow different and he finds himself nervous as he peers over the countless heads surrounding him.  He’s being smothered by hugs and kisses from everyone, Debbie is actually crying and Liam is wrapped around one of his long legs.  He thinks about walking over there, but refrains, giving the family members their time.

“It’s ok to go to him Mickey,” Mandy says as she catches her brother’s uncertainty.  He bites his bottom lip before leaning back into the counter.

“I know,” he says, still watching everyone shower Ian with affection.  “I’m just giving them their family time.”

“We’re family too ya know,” Mandy says as she makes her way over to her best friend.  Mickey watches as she waltzes over, immediately standing on her tippy toes as she wraps her arms around Ian’s neck.

Ian’s smiling at something she’s just whispered into his ear, his eyes subsequently landing directly on Mickey in the kitchen biting nervously on his bottom lip.  He locks eyes with him, and Mickey feels his heart beating in his throat.  He hasn’t the slightest clue why he’s reacting like this.  Perhaps it’s because Ian’s actually _here_ and not in the confines of the hospital.  Ian looks back down at Mandy, mouthing something else, before he breaks their embrace and begins to make his way to the kitchen.

“A party huh?” he says as he approaches Mickey smiling.  He practically salivates at the way Ian’s walking, that old confidence back in his stride.  And how his white t-shirt is clinging to the muscles he’s managed to keep isn’t making it any better.  The two boys don’t hug, instead Ian leans next to Mickey, his arms crossed as he watches his friends and family dance to the music.  “I know this wasn’t your idea,” Ian says as he looks at Mickey.

The older boy is still looking straight ahead, feeling really fucking stupid he has almost no idea how to act because Ian’ presence makes him fumble over the most common of things.  “You know it wasn’t,” Mickey replies, finally turning to meet his boyfriend’s gaze.  He lets a smile through, and without warning, Ian cups his face and leans in, kissing him gingerly.  Mickey deepens the kiss, almost forgetting about the party going on around them, before a very loud Vee interrupts them.

“Awww!  Look at you two love birds!” she beams as she walks over with a bowl of Doritos.  Mickey wipes his brows as he blushes, his other hand planted on the small of Ian’s back.  “Don’t mind me,” she says as she grabs a beer out of the fridge, “just getting a beer for Kev’s lazy ass.”  She shoots them both another smile, before pursing her lips in annoyance at the sound of Kev calling her.

Ian looks back at Mickey, whose face is still slightly red.  “Ya know, I would’ve been happy with a pizza and a six pack,” he says as he moves a stray hair from over Mickey’s eye.  Mickey laughs, because this he knows and prefers himself.  “We could be being lazy on the couch right now.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mickey says as he looks up at Ian.  He leans in and kisses the red head one more time before they make their way into the living room.

They mingle for about an hour.  Ian keeps shooting Mickey these glances, until he finally leans in to whisper something to him.  “I’m ready to go home,” he says.  Mickey’s caught off guard, because he thought Ian _was_ home at the moment.  It then dawns on him that Ian is referring to his house, and Mickey feels himself almost crumble.

He turns towards Ian and grins.  “Me too,” he says.  “Me too.”

~~~

Mandy agreed to watch Yevgeny for the night, and Mickey’s glad she did as he wakes up tangled in long limbs.  Ian was on a mission last night, showing him just how much he missed him – and fuck did the red head show up and show _out_.  Mickey’s certain they discovered new angles last night, his body thanking him and cursing him at the same time.  He looks down at the bruises in his hips and thighs left by Ian, and he rubs his fingers over them, realizing just how much he’s also missed these marks.

Ian stirs, probably from Mickey moving around, and opens his eyes.   A grin grows slowly on his lips, and Mickey marvels at just how beautiful he is when he first wakes up, his hair messy and face well rested.  “Good morning,” he says, his voice still lined with the remnants of sleep.

“Morning sleepyface,” Mickey says as he rubs his hand up and down Ian’s back.  He tightens his legs around Ian’s thighs as he feels long fingers running through his hair. 

“How’d I do?” Ian suddenly asks.

“Huh?” Mickey responds somewhat confused.

“Last night?”  Mickey lets out a huge snort, because Ian is actually asking about how he did last night.  He feels Ian lightly punch his chest.  “I’m serious Mick.”

“Which is why it’s so hilarious,” Mickey laughs again.  He quickly reels it in after he sees Ian is still looking at him expectantly.  He must be worried his meds are fucking with his performance, and Mickey can testify that they aren’t.  Not by a long shot.  “Put it this way.  If mind-blowing sex was in the dictionary, you’re picture would be next to that shit.”  Ian smiles and responds with a nip to Mickey’s jaw bone. 

They lay silently for a few minutes, Ian stroking Mickey’s hair, Mickey rubbing his lower back.  Ian’s eyes stare intently into Mickey’s, and his face suddenly becomes serious.  “I thought I would never get out of there,” he says solemnly.  Mickey knows where this conversation is headed, so he brings Ian in closer until their chests are flush against each other’s. 

“Well you’re home now.  Nothing else matters,” he assures him.  He ruffles Ian’s hair and begins to break them apart.  “How ‘bout breakfast?  You want breakfast?  I’m getting us breakfast,” Mickey says as he starts to roll over, only to be stopped by Ian’s hand.

“Wait,” he says as he grabs Mickey’s wrist, pulling him back in.  “Can we just lay like this a little longer?  I don’t feel like getting up anytime soon.”

Mickey doesn’t object because there’s nothing he loves more than being lazy in bed with Ian.  Besides, he’s missed having him like this, wrapped in sheets and skin, and his own scent all over him.  He feels Ian tighten his grip around him, as if he’s afraid to let go, scared he’ll be gone again.  It’s then in this moment Mickey hears Debbie’s voice, _“You know you’re his anchor,”_ playing in his mind. 

“You’re not going anywhere again,” Mickey says quietly.  “It’ll always be like this.”

Ian’s grip loosens slightly, his eyes blinking as he stares intently at Mickey’s lips.  “Always?” he asks before he gently takes his bottom lip between his teeth.  He pulls slightly, then releases it.

“Always,” Mickey says before closing the space between their lips.

And this time he runs towards the word, no longer afraid of it, because Ian not only makes him want things to be like this, _forever_ – he makes it possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this entire chapter while listening to "Magic" by Coldplay on REPEAT. I love this song so much, and it helped do exactly what I was aiming for in this installment. I just hope it wasn't cheesy lol. It's always tricky to keep everyone in character, especially Mickey when showing his softer sides without it being terribly OOC (which I hope didn't happen). Well, thanks to everyone who read this, and for all of the encouraging words. It always helps, and for that I'm appreciative. *Hugs* <3<3<3

**Author's Note:**

> This fic totally did not turn out how I planned, but I'm happy with it. My intention was to focus on Ian and Mickey being together, and write some fluff, but anyone who knows my writing knows I can't NOT write in angst lol. So I call this fangst (fluff + angst). While this is about them being a couple, it really focuses on Ian's bipolar disorder and how Mickey is protective of him. I love Mickey's protectiveness over Ian, hence the title "Aegis" for all you Greek mythology heads! Well, I hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading. :)


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